The man who owns my local record and CD store goes into shock whenever someone under fifty comes in. Especially someone female under fifty. It’s as if a unicorn just walked through his door, and he just doesn’t know what to do when I bring friends with me. Sometimes he’s so high I half expect him to reach out and touch me to make sure I’m not a hallucination.
I have sworn off iTunes and other methods of getting music online. I find that when I buy music from iTunes, I only purchase select songs, and never really get to know artists that I think I “like”. It makes me confuse loving a song with loving an artist. What with my passion for music, and my plans to major in music business, I decided that to rectify this, I would only buy albums from a local music store.
This has introduced me to the connection that happens at a record store, something I was never familiar with due to being a child of the tech age. Unfortunately, that connection is the confused faces of middle-aged men who wonder if I think the business is a drug front. They just can’t comprehend me.
Yesterday, I walked up to the counter to buy Beck’s Guero (alternative), Ice Cube’s Lethal Injection (hip hop), Santana Live (Latin-influenced rock), Tracy Chapman’s New Beginning (singer-songwriter), and Ladysmith Black Mumbazo’s Heavenly. While I was there, I ordered Aloe Blacc’s new album Lift Your Spirit (R&B). Last week, I bought two blues anthologies.
“I’m confused,” our music store owner said, referencing my absurdly eclectic music choices.
“I am too,” I said.